• Published 22nd Apr 2013
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Severed Roots - Bad_Seed_72



Third installment in the "Tangled Roots" timeline. When our heroes of the West and our villains in the East clash at last, who will be left standing?

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Stubborn Love

Stubborn Love

Towards silent cliff-faces they strode, emerging out of the canopy of the apple orchards. Though their minds ran rampant, they kept their muzzles shut, choosing to ponder instead of speak. Babs Seed caught eyes with Turner several times as their hooves ascended up the well-worn path, a slight smile on his face. She yearned to return the gesture in earnest, but the night’s revelation and her own fatigue prevented her from doing so sincerely. Horseapples, now we’re gonna have ta tell everypony once we get home 'bout dis mess… Ma’s not gonna be happy ‘bout dis, not at all.

Meeting the edge of the path, Babs climbed over the edge and onto level ground. She sat on her haunches, waiting for Turner to meet her. With a grimace and strained effort, the exhausted stallion pulled himself over the edge and onto the cliff above the orchard. Tumbleweeds and a lone coyote’s howl their only apparent companions, father and daughter rested a spell before continuing onwards.

To their hooves they rose again. Past the sleepy, untouched salt-bar they trotted, nopony in sight. Babs swore she could smell the smoldering ashes of the saloon wafting in the wind from the other side of town. Buckin’ scum. Wouldn’t be surprised iffa it’s his lil’ cronies comin’ out heeya, causin’ trouble an’ terrorizin’ everypony… Would love ta give ‘em a piece o’ ma mind, o' summat else.

As they turned towards home, Turner broke the silence, clearing his throat. “So, er, Babs,” he mumbled, pupils darting through the dark, ensuring they were alone, “how exactly are we gonna tell everypony... dis?"

“Jus' tell the truth... the whole truth... right?” She answered him with a question of her own, ears flattening in a mixture of confusion and annoyance. Didn’t youze say youze were gonna tell Ma the whole story? I’m not the best at keepin’ secrets, o' lyin', neitha.

He sighed. “Youze is right. I jus’ can’t keep—“

The commotion of five sets of hooves springing to attention and rushing towards them interrupted Turner’s confession. In his fatigue, he'd neglected to notice the approaching shadows from his peripherals. Babs spun around, mortified to see an Appleloosian posse of five galloping their way, weapons raised and eyes wild. Shit! Shit! Shit!

“Y’all don’t move a muscle, o’ we’ll shoot!” one of them—a disheveled-looking stallion, his coat and mane covered in grime—threatened. The revolver in his forehooves trembled slightly, betraying his bravado. He was clearly new to asserting his authority.

Nevertheless, their quarry complied, staying frozen, silent. Hackles raising and muscles tensing, Babs Seed suppressed a primal growl, eyes tracking the posse’s every motion. Staying strong, Turner narrowed his gaze and bit his tongue, long accustomed to suspicion. Nopony could wander without questions or, occasionally, hooves raised their way.

The five stallions circled around the pair, keeping their weapons trained on the strangers. The leader of the posse gazed curiously at them, threatening with the barrel of his gun. “Never seen y'all befo'! Jus’ what in tarnation were y’all doin’ out there in our orchard?!”

Baring her teeth, Babs growled and spat, “Dat’s none o’ youze business!”

Once her brash, disrespectful tongue stumbled onto dat, all five of the posse members clutched their steel tighter, forehooves achingly close to triggers and icy hatred rushing through their hearts. That tongue. That accursed, wretched, despicable tongue, and all its street-borne speech.

"Y'all are Manehattenites, ain't ya?” the dirty stallion snapped, glaring at Babs Seed. “We don’t take too kindly ta yer folk no mo’ ‘round these parts—“

“Our folk?! Braeburn is ma cousin!” She snarled, stomping a forehoof into the sand.

Snorting, the would-be leader countered, “Likely story, ya city-slickin’—“

Turner leaned down and whispered in his daughter’s ear, his words hesitant and low, “Babs... maybe we should—“

“Hey!” The stallion rounded on Turner, shaking his weapon threateningly. “Conspirin’, are ya?! Well, it’s five ‘gainst one, so maybe y’all should turn 'round an' go back ta where ya came from!”

Failing to conceal her rage, Babs rose from her passive position, rationality overridden by anger. She leaned back on her hindhooves, ready to pounce, mind held hostage by the grime-coated aggressor’s prejudiced tongue. In the fire of her anger, their weapons dissolved, and she only knew ancient instincts—caring not how foalish they were.

Five sets of eyes focused on her, the rising one.

Before anypony could react, a distant BANG! sliced through the night.

Braeburn rushed towards them, his revolver billowing smoke to the heavens. His shot echoed through the atmosphere towards the orchard, landing far and safely away from anypony. Apple Bloom galloped beside him, her mane wild and reckless, the bows in her red strands and tail hanging on by mere threads.

“What in tarnation is goin’ on here?!” Braeburn screeched as he approached, holstering his weapon and tossing unseen daggers towards the posse leader.

“D-Deputy!” the filthy stallion stammered, stepping away from his captives. He removed his dusty Stetson and hung his head low, eliciting the same respectful gesture from the other four. “Ah—we—found these two trouble-makin’, city-slickin’—“

“Ya mean, two o' ma family?!” Stomping towards him, Braeburn hissed through his teeth, “If ya ever—an’ Ah mean ever—put a hoof on these two, Ah’ll put ma hoof up yer ass so far, you’ll be singin’ soprano when Ah’m through wit’ you!” He shook his muzzle and pierced his pupils through the lowly four. “Y’all should be ashamed o’ yerselves! They ain’t botherin’ nopony!”

One of the posse dared to question him. “B-but, b-but Deputy, them two were in our orchard!”

“The orchard I helped harvest!” Babs added, blood boiling. Why, I oughta—

Apple Bloom broke through the posse and pulled her mare away, dragging her by a reluctant forehoof and prompting Turner to follow them. The three joined the Deputy's side, two of them holding the third, preventing her from springing to her hooves and serving as living target practice.

“Y’all break this up an’ git back ta the Sheriff’s Office!” Braeburn ordered the posse, spitting on the ground in disgust. He motioned with his forehooves, refusing to back down. “Go on, git!”

The five quickly holstered their weapons and galloped away, the would-be leader of their crew shooting Babs one last scowl before departing.

Relieved that they were safe, Braeburn turned his attention next to Babs Seed and Turner. “Jus’ what in the hay was that all ‘bout, y’all? Why did ya take off like that, Turner? We were worried sick after y’all didn’t come back!”

Digging a forehoof into the sand, Turner muttered from the corner of his muzzle, “Aye, uh, well, Brae, youze see—“ He glanced towards his daughter, who urged him to continue with an irritated nod. C'mon. Youze can't hide foreva.

Swallowing, Turner finished, “I’ll explain when we get back ta the house.”

Reckoning that it wouldn’t be the wisest idea to press the issue, Braeburn ceased to reply. After eying Turner for a few moments, he turned away, shrugging. He trotted to the front of the pack and began to lead the group back towards the cabin.

Apple Bloom pulled Babs Seed back, letting the stallions overtake their progress. “What was that all ‘bout?” she whispered, speaking into Babs’s sensitive ear.

Shivering from the contact, Babs quietly replied, “Youze’ll see.” She leaned close to her mare, willing her heart rate to return to normal. She felt her rage seemingly empty from her soul, traversing down her limbs and into the cool Earth. The foalishness of her blind, reckless actions was not lost on her. Horseapples, iffa Brae didn't show up, I—

“Are you alright, sugarcube?" Apple Bloom asked, brushing against her coat. She patted Babs on the shoulder, shaking her gently, ripping her from the forehooves of her thoughts.

Babs blinked rapidly and shook her muzzle. "Yes! No! ... I don't know, I guess." As they caught up to the stallions, she sighed and repeated, “Youze’ll see, Bloom.” It won’t be fo’ too much longa.

~

A livid Libra Scales swung the cabin door open before Braeburn could knock once. Heat seemed to proliferate from her fiery irises and pristine coat, increasing the temperature in the threshold. Without a word, she motioned the four inside, gesturing back to the dining table. Four defeated muzzles (two of them especially tense) made their way inside.

Citrus Blossom emerged from the kitchen, dropping a half-finished piece of apple pie and scrambling to meet them. “Babs! Turner! You’re alright!” she exclaimed, disregarding the mess on the kitchen floor.

Babs chuckled nervously and strode over to her sister. Citrus opened her forehooves and threw them around her sister, scolding, “Don’t you ever run out like that again!”

“Citrus, we’re fine,” Babs dismissed, hugging her. As she pulled away, she added, “I’m not a lil’ foal anymo’, sis.”

"No excuse!" Libra snapped, rounding on her daughter. She grabbed Babs by her muzzle, taking it between her forehooves. Through her narrow glare, she hissed, "Don't you run off like that on me again. Especially right now. Do you understand, young mare?

"And you!"

Releasing Babs Seed, Libra stomped towards Turner, shaking the Earth with each step. The stallion stood firm as she approached, although his pupils betrayed him, fixated on the front door.

Libra reached him in a blur, leaning up on her hindhooves to reach his muzzle. "You look at me when I'm talking to you! Right now, Page!"

"Y-yes ma'am!" he stammered, sweat trickling down his nape. His evening run paled in comparison to the tightness of her forehooves around his snout and the fire in her eyes. A million thoughts competed for dominance in Turner's mind. How to tell her? When? Perhaps he should tell her privately first? Or would it be better to blurt the truth all at once?

"What in Tartarus is wrong with you?! Why did you run out on me like that?!"

Turner swallowed.

Babs Seed took one hoof-step forward, warning, "Ma..."

Libra snapped her neck around to face her, although she didn't relinquish her grip on the stallion. "What is it, Babs?!"

"Be nice ta him!" Another step forward. "He has a good reason ta—"

"To run out on me? Again?"

"L-Libra, please," Turner muttered, shaking his snout, hoping she would let go. She did not. He shook his muzzle again, but Libra Scales only squeezed tighter, boring holes into his skull with her gaze.

Fuse lit at his flight, Libra Scales exploded, "No! YOU please! You shut up and listen, Page! Here I am, opening my home and—"

She paused, taking a deep, heaving breath before continuing, "My heart to you, you deadbeat tramp! I'm opening up to you, right after our home, our family, and our town have just about been destroyed, and what do you do?!"

"Ma..." Dammit, Ma, don't youze—

Citrus Blossom stood beside her sister. "Mother, calm down."

Braeburn clutched his Stetson in his forehooves tightly, stepping forward to act as mediator. "Auntie, Ah think ya should stop doin' that... yer hurtin' him..."

Turner shook his head. "No, she's fine. Libra, look, I—"

Yanking him forward and below so that the stallion was muzzle-to-muzzle with her, Libra Scales demanded, "What do you know about him, huh?! Are you one of his little worshipers or something?!"

"Mother! Enough!"

Even Apple Bloom could take no more. She reached towards her aunt's tail, poised to pull her away as she warned, "Auntie, ya better stop what yer doin' right now. This ain't right! Jus' look at him!"

Turner made no motion to break free or resist. He stared back at Libra Scales—the mare who'd captured his heart and soul twenty years ago and imprisoned it through all their lost time. The mare who, through some unfortunate timing of Nature and Fate itself, managed to unite with him—entwine with him—and create the tall mare standing behind her.

Libra Scales. His mare. Page Turner. Her stallion. His mare for a week... And... his brother's, his despicable, psychotic, sociopathic, soulless, twisted, wicked brother's mare for twenty years of doubtless hell.

Page Turner was an old soul, forced to become a stallion and raise himself from an early age. He'd seen the bottom of the barrel, the lowest of the low, sleeping in more than one dumpster throughout his wanderings. He was strong, physically and emotionally. Or, at least, he appeared to be, on any other night.

Tonight, he allowed a mare half his size to silence and restrain him. She couldn't hurt him any more than he'd already injured himself. He deserved it, unlike her. She didn't deserve the words that he would utter, the words that would shatter any chance of rekindling their friendship or—who was he kidding?—love from long past.

She paused, relaxing her grip and letting his head hang. He stared at the floorboards of his own accord, closing his eyes, wishing it all away. The Most High granted him no favors. When Turner opened his eyes, Libra was still staring into him, the entire cabin filled with unbearable silence.

Libra Scales whispered, "Page... How do you know my ex-husband? How do you know Bernie Madhoof?"

Babs Seed dug at the floorboards with him, neither finding relief there. Apple Bloom and Citrus, noticing Babs's longtime coping mechanism, found their uneasiness amplified in the seconds that passed. Braeburn, too, couldn't deny the tension in the air, fiddling with his hat over and over again.

Finally, Turner sighed and looked at the mare, sadness shining on his muzzle.

"Libra, Bernie Madhoof is ma brotha."

A Stetson found the floor, its owner's jaw hanging agape. Citrus's muzzle paled in disbelief. Apple Bloom bit her tongue, repressing a curse of skepticism that would've made her mare blush, and stared worriedly at Babs Seed.

Horseapples. Heeya we go. Retracting her hoof-steps, Babs stood in between sibling and cousin, looking on at the scene unfolding before them.

Libra Scales backed away, away, away from the stallion, knocking over a stool and smacking her flanks into the dining table. She searched desperately for something to latch onto, flailing her forehooves over untouched plates and cold slices of apple pie. "No. No. No! You're—you're a liar! There's no way! You would've told me if—"

"I did tell youze," Turner replied calmly. "I did tell youze I had a brotha. I told youze I had an estranged brotha who was married an' had a foal. I didn't know until ta-night dat it was him... dat it was youze he was married ta. Don't youze rememba me tellin' youze dat? Dat I had a brotha?"

Refusing to believe, the mare rapidly shook her muzzle. "No! No! This—no! There's no way!"

"Libra, please," the stallion pleaded, stepping towards her. Stretching out a forehoof, he said, "I know dis is hard fo' youze—fo' all o' youze—" he glanced apologetically around the cabin—"ta handle. I didn't wanna believe it, eitha. Dat's why I ran. I—"

"Get out." Libra snarled, rage resurfacing.

"What?" Turner stepped closer to the mare, reaching for her shoulder.

Smacking him away, she reiterated, "Get. Out!"

Babs lurched forward, the other two mares too hypnotized by the spectacle to stop her. She rushed in between her parents and rounded on her mother first. "Ma, please, jus' give him a chance! He's nothin' like—"

"How do you know that?!" Scrambling further away, back towards the opposite kitchen wall, Libra demanded, "How do you know anything anymore?! He's your father, and now Bernie's your uncle?!"

Climbing out of his stupor, Braeburn started towards his aunt. "Auntie, Ah think—"

"First, we get assaulted in the middle of the night by a pack of roving gangsters, and now this?! Now I come to find my daughter's father is not her father, but her uncle?!"

Her chest heaving, Libra smacked up against the wall, tears of rage and sorrow clouding her vision. She stared up at the ceiling, shaking a forehoof towards the silent One watching all below. "What?! What are you gonna do to me NOW?!"

Four muzzles snapped silent.

Turner opened his mouth, his formless words cast aside by her spewing rage.

"—My daughter's father is her uncle, and her real father is a worthless vagabond—"

The fifth joined them.

"—And the entire West is exploding around me! What do you have for me now, motherbucker?! Huh? HUH?!" She taunted the empty Heavens, shaking her forehooves, before falling to her hindhooves in defeat. Sobs wracked her body—great, wretched sobs, shattering the night with her cries, everything falling into pieces around her...

The first forehoof to touch her chin was that of the worthless vagabond, looking deep into her eyes, her soul.

Sniffling, Libra hissed, "Get out, Page."

"There's summat I want youze ta know, Libra Scales, befo' I go."

"What's that? Got any more dirty secrets?" she choked through her tears, four sets of forehooves on her back and shoulders failing to calm her.

Turner caught eyes with each of them—Babs, Bloom, Citrus, and Braeburn—committing their muzzles to memory. He'd hoped this day would never come. He hoped that, if he was so blessed to see a reunion, it would be an eternal moment in time. He'd hope that he'd forge something from the wreckage of his regret, something beautiful and pure and holy.

Not all things, he knew, were meant to be.

Turner said, "I'm sorry, Libra. Youze... youze were ma first love, an' I'm sorry fo' everythin' dat happened 'tween us."

He leaned down and kissed her forehead, bracing himself for the blow that was sure to come.

When it didn't, he hesitated, stepping slowly towards the front door.

One step, two, three.

On the fourth, he heard a noise that barely registered above his own heartbeat.

"... Please..."

Her voice.

Halting, Turner pricked his ears, urging them to let him hear. The tears streaming down his muzzle demanded he face forward. Little to his knowledge, not one dry eye rested within the walls of the Appleloosians' home. C'mon, Ma, please, jus' please give him a chance.. afta all dis time, jus'... please.

Here, in the lovingly hoof-crafted cabin under Luna's parish lantern, Libra Scales wrestled with her rationality. Decision-making was her specialty, her cutiemark testifying to her balance in all manner of things.

Here, in this faraway land of snow and sunlight, fire and ice, balance had long eluded her. Whenever it was discovered, something (or somepony) managed to upset her homeostasis, eventually. Such was life, Libra Scales knew—an endless series of mountains and valleys, flatland resting between.

Whether this was the precipice of descent or the first step towards the ascending summit, she did not know. All Libra Scales knew was that, despite and against her better judgment, she wasn't ready to say goodbye.

If she had not fought for her life a few nights before, if she had not been forced to take another's, if she had not watched her nephew and daughter tip-hoof along the brink of life and death, Libra Scales wouldn't have done what she did next. Or, at least, that's what she rationalized.

"Please... don't go..."

Rising slowly to her hooves with the assistance of her niece, nephew, and daughters, Libra Scales trotted over to Page Turner. She leaned up to meet his gaze, wiping her tears away. "I'm sorry... I... I don't know why, but... please... please don't leave..."

Pulling her close into a hug, Turner whispered, "I won't, Libra. I won't, unless youze want me ta."

Chewing on his words, she paused, letting them freeze in the atmosphere between them. Page Turner the vagabond, brother of the despicable Bernie Madhoof, waited, his heart thundering, his breath catching in his throat.

Libra Scales the business-mare, the accountant, the mother, the long-lost lover, went against everything she knew, and decided to let the cards fall as they may. After twenty years, she'd finally found her stallion, and,in spite of all this mess, this absolute mess, she wasn't ready to let go.

Foalish or not, she bet on a second chance.

"... I don't want you to."

Apple Bloom leaned into Babs Seed, and Citrus Blossom into Braeburn, the four of them allowing their final tears to plummet to the floor. At last, they were tears of joy.

"C'mon, y'all, let's leave 'em be," Braeburn whispered, retrieving his Stetson and securing it on his head.

No objections raised, Babs Seed and Apple Bloom retreated to the guest room, looking over their shoulders with a smile. Braeburn and Citrus, respectful of Libra's wishes, retired to their rooms separately, although they did so with a nuzzle and a kiss beforehoof.

Libra Scales and Page Turner remained there for a long, long time, embracing, reminiscing.

Rational or not, Libra knew she made the right decision.

~

"Youze think dey are still out there?"

Stretching out on the bed, Babs yawned, rubbing sleepiness from her eyes. Moonlight poured in from the guest-room window, lulling her to chase the Sandmare into oblivion. She vowed to stay awake until Turner and her mother retired to their rooms. O' maybe it'll jus' be the same room ta-night, heh, she mischievously thought, grinning.

Apple Bloom pressed her ear against the oak, the faint sound of two hushed voices emanating from Braeburn's room. About to make a quick wisecrack—"Ah guess Brae an' Citrus couldn't keep their promise ta Auntie, huh?"—Apple Bloom recognized the speakers as Turner and Braeburn. She chuckled and strode from the door towards the bed. "Sounds like Turner's bunkin' wit' Brae 'gain. Guess it couldn't have gone too well, sugarcube."

Babs snorted. Dat Braeburn's got mo' self-control than Pinkie Pie tryin' ta keep her own Pinkie Promise in a cupcake factory. "Well," she said, scooting over on the bed when Apple Bloom jumped up beside her, "I guess the fact he's still heeya is a good sign."

Leaning over to move the solitary strand of mane from in front of Babs' eyes, Apple Bloom replied, "Jus' give it time. She'll come 'round. Ya gotta give 'em time... Twenty years, an' all that's goin' on, too? Jus' be patient, an' understandin', Babsy—they're holdin' up good in spite o' everythin', somehow."

"I guess youze is right." Wrapping her forehooves around her torso, Babs pulled her mare closer to her. Frowning, she muttered, "I feel awful 'bout what happened, though..."

"It ain't yer fault, sugarcube." Apple Bloom kissed her softly on the cheek, then the lips, seeking to calm her mare. "Ya didn't do anythin' wrong."

"Yes, but—"

"But what?"

Rolling them over so that Apple Bloom was lying on top of her, Babs whispered, "But... I shoulda been heeya. I shoulda been heeya ta stop dem. Ta stop dem bastards," she spat, furrowing her brow and revealing her teeth instinctively. An' now, 'cuz o' dat, everypony in Appleloosa ain't gonna look at me o' Turner o' anypony harmless from Manehatten wit' a straight face, we're all scum an' criminals ta 'em.

Sighing, Apple Bloom shook her head and clicked her tongue. "That's ma Babsy," she murmured, running a forehoof through her mane and down her chest. "Always wantin' ta protect everypony. It'll be alright, sugarcube, Ah promise. Brae, Citrus, an' Auntie are strong. An' besides, Ah don't think them criminals will be comin' back after what the townsponies did ta 'em.

"Now... let's jus' relax, alright?"

Leaning in close, Apple Bloom exhaled hotly into her mare's left ear, then nibbled gently on its tip.

Babs Seed pulled her closer, chills galloping down her spine. "Hah... not... so—"

Knock, knock.

"Aww, horseapples." Apple Bloom groaned, flopped off her mare, and stumbled to the floor. She reached the door and opened it slowly, revealing a grinning and giggling Citrus Blossom.

"Was I... interrupting anything?" Citrus teased, winking. Two blushes confirmed her suspicions. "I see. Well, Mom's asleep, so, I was wondering... Can we talk?"

Rolling onto her stomach, Babs sighed and gestured for Citrus to enter. Citrus carefully shut the door behind her and strode happily over to the bed, light on her hooves. Exchanging frustrated glances, Apple Bloom and Babs Seed made room for a third pony to stretch out on the guest-room bed.

"So!" Citrus happily chirped, keeping her volume low, "How are my two favorite mares?" She plastered a grin onto her muzzle, transparent to both her counterparts.

"What's on youze mind, Citrus?" Babs pressed, possessing saddlebags full of bits but still too poor to buy Citrus's facade.

Citrus visibly deflated, her ears flattening and her mask falling to the floor. "I just... I don't think I'll be able to sleep well for a long time, if ever..." She paused, staring towards the guest-room door.

Apple Bloom asked, "Hear somethin'?"

"... I just think I did. I'm sure I'll be hearing things all the time," admitted Citrus, sighing. "I just... I just don't understand. Why here? Why Appleloosa? Why... us?"

Babs Seed shook her head, flopping over onto her back. "Hay iffa I know. Iffa it ain't dat ol' bastard, who knows? Let's jus' hope dey don't come back again, an' blow 'em away iffa dey do." She closed her eyes, seeking a few precious minutes of rest. The moon taunted her, minutes to midnight, beckoning her far and away towards shapeless landscapes.

Citrus shivered, remembering the screeching pink mare and her soulless eyes. "Hope isn't much, but I'll take it for now." A tear glistening in the corner of her eye, she laid her head on a pillow and blinked the image away. "It's just... Mother and I came here to escape... Manehatten," she said carefully, mindful of her mother's burden.

Unbeknownst to Citrus, one of the two lying beside her knew it to the fullest extent; the other had been sheltered out of love. Nevertheless, she continued, "We came here because we thought it would be safe. We thought we would be safe. And for a while, we were, especially with Braeburn. But..."

"I just wonder... If Appleloosa goes the way of Manehatten, where will we run, then?"

Lifting her chin with a forehoof, Apple Bloom nuzzled Citrus, assuring her, "Now, now, don't ya worry. Brae an' his posse—idiots they may be, but still—they won't let this happen again. Ah know they won't. Especially ta you. An' besides, worst comes ta worst, y'all can come back ta Sweet Apple Acres! Right, Babs?"

Silence.

"Babs?"

Looking up from the pillow, Citrus laughed. "Looks like somepony had a hard day." Her little sister—sister full in the blood of the heart—lay fast asleep, snores beginning and sure to rise to a symphony and crescendo.

Apple Bloom face-hoofed and shook her muzzle. "Ah wish Ah could sleep that easy."

"Don't we all?" Citrus agreed.

"Eeyup. But don't worry, Citrus. Worst comes ta worst, me an' Babs will come an' show 'em what fer! Heh. That is... if we can manage ta learn ta shoot anythin' other than a cactus."

"Heh. I suppose you're right. Thanks."

"Yer welcome."

They permitted silence to settle between them, letting it sing of promises of a new tomorrow. In the past few days, a myriad of events had shattered their paradigms, leaving them all to an uncertain dawn. Whether it was murderous arsonists in Appleloosa, encounters with beloved friends, or reunion with one long lost, nopony within the cabin remained unfazed by it all.

Their coping mechanisms varied—paranoia, humor, mood swings, silence—but they remained standing, refusing to surrender into despair. For the most part, the Apples (and Turner, too) seemed to be keeping it together. The two alert mares in the guest room knew from experience, however, that these long nights of the soul were far from over.

A cold Appleloosian wind rushing past the ajar window seemed to whisper that they were just beginning.

After a while, Citrus turned over to face her cousin, breaking the silence quietly. "I've been meaning to ask... Forgive me if it's inappropriate, but... I just need to talk about something other than the shootings."

Apple Bloom nodded, urging her silently to continue.

Citrus asked, "So, um... Have you and Babs ever talked about... you know?”

Confused, Apple Bloom asked, “’You know’ what?

“Important things, big things,” Citrus clarified, running a forehoof repeatedly through her mane. “Like… settling down someday?”

“'Settlin’ down'? Wait, ya can’t mean—“ Apple Bloom gasped, covering her mouth with a forehoof. Scarlet spread across her snout and muzzle. She stared at Citrus, whispering, “Please don’t tell me yer talkin’ ‘bout what Ah think yer talkin’ ‘bout.”

Citrus giggled softly and stretched out on the bed, leaning her head on top of her forehooves. “Mmhmm, I am. It’s been long enough, don’t you think?”

“Ah…” Avoiding her gaze, Apple Bloom mumbled, “Ah, Ah dunno. Ah mean, sometimes... Ah think it would be nice if—if we do that someday. But Ah don’t think Babs an’ Ah are ready fer that.”

“Hmm. Well, have you talked about it with her?”

Still unable to look Citrus in the eye, Apple Bloom wished she could disappear. Why was this subject—of all subjects—worrying her the most? In her current state, perhaps everything was magnified beyond its significance, she reckoned. So much had transpired in the past two days, enough to render the benevolent (albeit terrifying) topic at hoof a monstrosity.

Citrus smiled and snuggled up next to her. “C’mon. I won’t tell anypony about this. Not even Babs. And you don’t have to tell me anything if you don't want. But,” she said gingerly, “I thought you might have had something in mind when you two came out here last year. You said something about wanting to get to know me and Mother more?”

“Eeyup,” Apple Bloom admitted, blushing deeper still and burying her muzzle into her forehooves.

“What was that about?”

Refusing to look up, Apple Bloom coughed and began, “Ah… Well, Ah...”

“It's alright, Bloom,” Citrus said. She gestured to her snoring sister, who was currently lying flat on her back, all four hooves twitching with hazy R.EM. sleep. A small river of drool trickled from her wide-open muzzle and drenched the pillow, a casualty of the Sandmare's onslaught. “She can’t hear us.”

Unconvinced, Apple Bloom countered, “But what if she does, Citrus? Ah haven’t even talked ‘bout this wit’ her. Ah can’t. Ah jus' can't. Ah don’t… Ah don’t know if Ah’m ready. If we’re ready.”

Citrus leaned one inch closer. “Ready for what?”

Apple Bloom sighed, defeated, knowing that the grinning mare wouldn’t take silence or tip-hoofing around the issue for an answer. Citrus would continue to poke and prod until her cousin finally threw up her forehooves in surrender. And, although it was far less dramatic than she’d envisioned, saying it proved a momentous feat in itself.

“M-marriage.”

Her smile posed to split her muzzle in two, Citrus hugged Apple Bloom tightly. She whispered, “See? That wasn’t that hard, now, was it?”

Apple Bloom shook her head. “Ah guess not,” she admitted, mane and muzzle matching their hues. She sighed. “Ah’ve been wit’ her fer so long, Citrus. Ah don’t wanna stop bein’ wit' her.”

Apple Bloom rolled from her side onto her back, looking up at Citrus with a smile. “Ah think sometimes that, after all these adventures an’ we both figure out what we wanna do wit’ our lives, maybe we can settle down. Ah dunno where. It doesn’t matter ta me. Ah jus’ wanna be wit’ her an’ her wit’ me. An’ Ah do want it ta be official. Ah want it ta be fer forever.

"And there's nothing wrong with that. Though, I do hope you talk with her about this sooner, rather than later." Joining her in ceiling-gazing, Citrus mischievously nudged he cousin and posed another loaded question. “So... Have you two ever talked about... foals?"

“F-foals?!” Apple Bloom cast a curious sideways glance to the mare, nostrils flared. “Citrus! Ah'm—we're—only twenty!"

Citrus smirked. “You didn't answer the question."

“… Seriously?!” Apple Bloom glared at her.

Casually checking her fetlocks (unshorn and dusty as usual), Citrus replied off-hoof, “Oh, come now, Apple Bloom. I was just curious. It's just something to think about, and talk about, someday.” She leaned up on her forehooves again, yawning. “There are ways two mares can have a foal, you know. There’s always adoption. Or finding a rather… accommodating stallion friend.”

Apple Bloom snorted her derision at that particular notion. “An' what exactly brought this conversation 'bout?"

Citrus hummed to herself. "Well, to be honest, I just wanted to kind of change the subject after... what we were talking about earlier," she sheepishly confessed. "And... I guess... I guess I just wonder about those sort of things sometimes. Marriage, foals. I wonder if... I wonder if they'll ever be for me, you know?"

Offering a encouraging smile, Apple Bloom took Citrus' forehooves in her own and said, "Ah know they will be. You'd be a great mare an' mother fer anypony ta have. A great mare... even fer ma cousin Braeburn," she added teasingly, winking.

Now it was Citrus Blossom's turn to blush. She chuckled but didn't immediately reply. Rolling over onto her side, Citrus hopped off the bed and rose to her hooves, mindful of the oblivious mare sawing logs in the corner of the bed.

"Thanks, Apple Bloom. I guess you're right. Everything that's been going on, it just makes me think, and worry... But... I know everything will be alright in the end. After everything we've been through... we can get through this."

Apple Bloom nodded. "Ah hope so, Citrus."

Citrus mustered a smile, more genuine this time. "Goodnight, Apple Boom," she whispered before trotting out the door.

Apple Bloom returned the slight smile. "Goodnight, Citrus."

She stared at the door for a few tense moments, wondering if Citrus would return. The trotting of hooves towards Libra's room negated this possibility. Apple Bloom found herself simultaneously relieved and disappointed. She and Citrus hadn't had many deep conversations, and this first one in a long while left her with too many rampant thoughts.

Once she was sure they were alone again, Apple Bloom laid down next to Babs Seed, wrapping her forehooves around the slumbering mare. She snuggled into her chest and rested there, the scent of perspiration and night air in her thick fur inducing a content sigh. Beneath that was her scent: a blend of apples and oranges, sweet and sour. Her scent, always. Comforting. Always.

She tucked those rampaging thoughts away for later contemplation.

Babs smacked her lips in her sleep and instinctively pulled her mare close, wandering through her dreams.

“Ah love you, Babsy,” Apple Bloom murmured, kissing her mare softly on the neck. Predictably, she stirred but did not wake, a long, emotionally draining night rendering her useless until dawn.

The tempo of her mare's heartbeat drew her to the stars beyond, the moon urging her to chase it past the higher plains. She learned its rhythm, marveling at how it was in sync with hers. And always would be.

Before closing her eyes, Apple Bloom muttered through a yawn, “Goodnight…”

In Apple Bloom's dreams, they galloped side-by-side through endless fields of green and gold. Their journey ended at the sunset, where the sky was ablaze with yellow, orange, red. Their colors. They always had been, through all these years, from the last night to this one, over eight years later.

And there, at the end of the end—the edge of the edge—she spoke her true and sacred heart.

And Babs Seed answered the only way she knew how.